


3 Times Those Idiots Said Hello

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've had way too many goodbyes between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Times Those Idiots Said Hello

**Author's Note:**

> My reaction to an overabundance of angst on Tumblr.

Once again, she comes awake with a start, rolling into a crouch, the cutlass a comforting weight in her hand. This time, though, she can't tell what woke her, and she scans the camp for a clue--Pan back to play more games, maybe.

What she sees is Hook watching her from across the fire, lounging against a boulder with the light dancing in his eyes.

She looks around one last time, but can't find anything else amiss, so she sheathes the sword and steps carefully over to sit next to him. "Hey," she says, quiet, trying not to wake her parents or Regina.

"Swan," he says, his own voice equally low.

"I thought you said we didn't need to keep a watch." She can't keep the accusing tone out of her voice, even though she's more tired than bothered; the thing with the map dredged up a lot of crap she isn't sure she can face again, not right now. "That Pan could jump us any time he wanted to, so there was no reason to wear ourselves out."

"All of which is true," he says, giving her a nod that somehow, in that brief movement, implies an old-fashioned kind of courtesy. "But I was never fond of spending the night ashore. It seems that sleeping through the cries of the Lost Ones is a talent far easier to lose than to reacquire."

She blinks at that, studying him more closely, noticing for the first time the faint lines of strain around his eyes. "You can hear them, too?"

"Aye." A shadow of a smile passes over his face, but it's not a happy one. He takes a hit from his flask--not a long one, more of a demonstration. "The rum's not just for marking an occasion, you know."

She takes a drink when he offers her the flask, and then makes herself go back to her blankets, rolling over on her side, away from him. She tells herself it's just the heat of the fire on her back, not the weight of his stare.

* * *

She knocks on his door before she has a chance to change her mind.

When she hears movement behind it, she fights a momentary urge to duck back down the hallway before he gets there. But she hasn't done a ring-and-run since she was ten, and that was only to fit in with the other kids. 

She also has a sudden, bizarre notion about fixing her hair, and she shoves her hands into her back pockets to avoid becoming even more ridiculous.

He pulls open the door, and his whole face lights up when he sees her. "Swan," he says, a little breathless, with--relief? Surprise? Both?

Did he think she'd leave without saying goodbye?

"Hi," she says, suddenly shy, because, yeah, that has been her MO before, but not--she wouldn't do that to him. "So there's this royal coronation naming party… thing going on downstairs, for the baby. On the one hand, there are a lot of mystery casseroles, but on the other, there's also a _lot_ of beer."

He looks away from her, ducking his head to scratch behind his ear. "I wasn't certain my presence would be welcome in light of recent events."

"What are you talking about? You helped save the baby."

"And kept the witch's plans from you, thereby endangering him and your boy." He looks up at her, so solemn and sincere that it makes her breath catch. "I cannot express how sorry I am for that."

"Then don't." His head starts to drop, and she steps forward, holding up a hand. "No, I mean--it's okay, I get it. You did the best you could, and--it's over, now." 

He meets her eyes again, and that's when she realizes how close she's standing. Her free hand curls around the wood trim beside the doorway.

She takes a deep breath, but it doesn't do much for the tightness in her chest. "Look, if you really want to make it up to me, you won't make me face this party alone. No one should have to deal with onion strings and mini-marshmallows without back-up."

He watches her for a moment, long enough that the itch to just take off starts pricking at her. "Lead the way, then, Swan," he says softly, and she turns away, heading for the crowded party, where it's somehow easier to breathe than up here, alone, with him.

* * *

She's pretty sure she's smiling before she's even fully awake.

His deep, even breaths are fluttering the hair along the side of her face. Under her palm, his skin is warm, his heart beating strong, and steady, and right where it's supposed to be.

And everything else is in fine working order, too, as the well-earned ache in her muscles and the beard-burn scattered across her skin can attest to. She shifts a little, and it turns into a stretch and a satisfied grunt that she doesn't catch in time. 

His breathing changes, and she opens her eyes to see him looking back at her, lips pulling back in a grin that puts hers to shame.

"Good morning," he says, with a sleepy rasp to his voice that makes her own smile a little sharper, a little hungrier.

"Yeah, it is," she says, and slides over to fold her hands across his chest, propping her chin in her fingers. The move leaves her bare breasts pressed against his stomach, and he lifts his head to enjoy the view, tongue tucked against the corner of his mouth. "Did you sleep well?" she asks, in mock innocence.

"Aye," he says, resting his left arm behind his head. His hand slips up her shoulder, tracing gently over her neck where her skin's still tender, where he'd buried his face against her.

She tilts her head, rubbing her cheek against the back of his hand. "Good," she says, and dips her chin to dart a lick across his wrist. Something flares in his eyes, and a stirring against her hip indicates she's definitely got his interest piqued. "Because you're not leaving this bed until I let you."

He raises his eyebrows in delight, but then something inexpressibly fond eases across his face, and he cradles her cheek with his hand. "Believe me, Emma," he says, his voice almost hoarse, and it tugs at something deep in her own chest. "I've no desire to be parted from you ever again."


End file.
